


if i didn't have you, i'd never see the sun

by g_uttertrash



Series: domestic monsters [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood Drinking, Domestic Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Magic, Mild Smut, Monsters, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vampire Louis, Vampires, Witch Harry, Witches, just a little because i never know what i'm doing when it comes to smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_uttertrash/pseuds/g_uttertrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything changes when you have a roommate who doesn't Get It. </p><p>(Liam has trouble with inanimate objects, Harry blows things up, Niall is a brat, and Louis finally talks about his life B.V. - Before Vampirism.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i didn't have you, i'd never see the sun

**Author's Note:**

> first things first HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!! sorry it's late, i really wanted to have an update before the holiday but uhhh i'm kind of in california at disneyland and california adventure and wanting to DIE after walking around all day didn't exactly make me want to edit haha. but here it is!
> 
> SOME STUFF BEFORE YOU READ: FIRST you should all look at [this INCREDIBLE manip](http://unmeshed.tumblr.com/post/132089002706/au-witchharry-doing-magic-and-brewing) that unmeshed on tumblr made for me, it's gorgeous and i am SO grateful. SECOND all aboard the cheese train!! no really this one is honestly just harry and louis being nerdasses in love so it's just reality, basically. THIRD there's a teeny bit of angst because i'm the Worst FOURTH also a tiny bit of SMUT so there's a warning or whatever, it's not great and i'm sorry for that too and FIFTH i'm not sure if this will be chaptered or not, i haven't decided yet if i should make the next one a separate part of the series or a second chapter on this one. we'll see how it looks once i finish it. 
> 
> thank you so much for all your kudos and comments!!! playlist is [here](http://8tracks.com/g-uttertrash/domestic-monsters) if you want, whole idea is based loosely on [this](http://moniquill.tumblr.com/post/66494076079/necrotype-domestic-monsters-the-witch) post, and (as always) the title is from one direction's "drag me down"

_August_

The knocking starts at noon.

Niall pokes his head in without waiting to be summoned, which is both bothersome and, in the eyes of the resident vampire, just plain insulting. “Don’t forget we’ve got that flatmate meeting this evening!”

His eyes open into slits. How could Louis _possibly_ forget? There’s a reminder written on the chalkboard in the hallway, the one that is magically stuck to the wall, the one that erases any pornographic drawings automatically (Niall learned the hard way), the one patterned with reminders in their various individual handwritings, messy scrawls and Harry’s more refined swirls. There’s also a reminder on the refrigerator, held in place by a magnet that says “Edward Sucks” in the _Twilight_ font. Harry bought him a whole pack of them, smiling innocently as a cat with a canary feather sticking out of its mouth, Niall coughing and failing to hide his laughter in the background. Louis wanted to throw them away, but Harry bought them and he just can’t bring himself to do it.

Just in case there is any chance Louis might forget, Niall checks back in every hour. Louis thinks it’s more due to boredom than anything else. Ever since he was sacked from the restaurant where he worked for calling out too often, he had been a main staple of the house during the day, as well as a constant thorn in Louis’ side. He loves the little wolf bugger, he does, but having him around all day, banging around upstairs and laughing too loudly at trash daytime TV, cramming crisps into his mouth all afternoon, is driving Louis _insane_.

The last time Niall pops back in, Louis is ready. He volleys a pillow patterned with stars (Harry’s) at the door, just narrowly missing Niall, who ducks behind the door at the last moment. “You know, you could’ve just told me to stop coming in here,” he says crossly, resurfacing.

“Or, alternatively, you could recognize when you’re being _annoying_.”

“Or, you could get up!” He slumps against the doorframe. “Lou, I’m _bored_. There’s nothing on the telly and we’re out of pickles.”

“Um, what does that have to do with—”

“It just _does_. Are you getting up?”

“Yes.” Louis rolls over in bed, sitting up. He runs his hand through his hair a couple of times, yawning, rubbing at his eyes. Clinging to the pillow beside him is a faint whiff of strawberries, like a perfume that just won’t go. Louis opens his mouth like a cat scenting the air, smiling slowly, letting his eyes close as he inhales the scents of Harry’s many soaps and his organic shampoo: lavender, rosemary, a little bit of orange.

Niall’s voice interrupts his reverie. “Are you?”

“ _Yes_. Just give me a minute, will you?” Louis shakes his head. “And you know, you’d be less bored if you’d get another job.”

“Uh, pot, kettle? You haven’t had a job in centuries.”

“Not true. I was a babysitter in the fifties.”

“Only so you could hit on soldiers home from the war.”

Louis grins, his eyes gleaming across the room in the dark. “Prove it.”

“Don’t need to, I was there. I remember.”

“Can I help it if they looked dead fit in their uniforms?”

Niall snorts. “ _Dead_ fit. That’s you, innit? Anyway, why do I need to work? You’ve got plenty of money. You can cover my share.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to.”

“Hasn’t stopped you before.”

Louis sighs. Niall has a point, there. He’s been paying for the two of them since the day they met. Speaking of, he hasn’t checked his accounts in a while, it might time for a top-up. He makes a mental note to look into that when he gets a minute. “Well, we’ve got Liam now,” Louis says, disentangling his legs from his blankets and reaching for his phone on the bedside table, “but he doesn’t have a job, either, so you _are_ going to have to go back to work at some point. You know that, right?”

Niall rolls his eyes. “Yes, _Mum_.”

“Says the one who keeps harping on about the flatmate meeting!” Louis throws a shirt at the door and this time, Niall darts away, laughing. Louis shakes his head, opening the app for his bank on his phone. If there’s one thing he loves about modern technology, it’s being able to do things from the comfort—and darkness—of his own home. His accounts _are_ looking a little thin, if centuries of accumulated wealth can even have such a setting.

He types out a note to himself: _treasure_.

Tossing his phone down, he shifts his crooked joggers around on his hips, sliding out of bed. That strawberry scent persists around him, mixed with vanilla and…sage, he thinks. He follows the trail of it out into the hallway, can see it in the air: silver sparkles, mixed with green and a soft pink.

“Niall,” Louis calls, “is Harry home?”

“Yep,” Niall shouts back. “A few hours now.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Louis rolls his eyes.

“Figured you’d know. He’s been down in the cellar the entire time. Hung up his little _do not disturb_ sign and all, so I left him to it.” Niall looks up at him as he comes into the room. All the lights are off, except for the telly, images lighting up Niall’s pale skin, making him look like a ghost.

“Remind him about the meeting if you go down there, will you?”

“Niall, we’re all going to be at the meeting. Relax.”

Louis goes into the hall loo to brush his teeth. As he does, he tilts his head, listening for Harry. Humming mingling with a cat purring, the clinking of glass bottles, a marble mortar and pestle grinding soothingly, the smell of Harry’s skin and hair, scent clinging to each curl. He’s down in the cellar, a realm far unknown to Louis, to any of them _but_ Harry—it’s his private place. Louis knows, though, that Harry will let him in if he asks. Still, he decides to hang back for a bit, make himself a cuppa, and follow his own advice: _Relax_.

Because he and Harry have started sleeping together. Not in the sex sense of the word, not yet, though Louis knows Harry wants to, and _he_ wants to as well. But it’s all still so new, this idea that he has somebody again, that his body and his brain aren’t totally sure how to process it. With everything he’s seen and everybody he’s lost, he has a hard time focusing on the _now_. Sleeping together is the most natural thing; he loves Harry curled up beside him, loves him drooling and mumbling into his pillow, loves his body heat to cling to. But Louis can’t help but lie awake beside him, thinking of how he has all this time left, an hourglass that never runs out, and Harry _doesn’t_. All he can think about is what comes after, that inevitable, crushing devastation that waits at the end of every relationship. It’s something that’s in the back of his mind with Niall every day, this knowledge that one day it’ll be him and Niall, like it has been for centuries, and then the next day it’ll just be him. It feels like something he sees out of the corner of his eye chasing him, some dark horror that he knows will be right behind him if he dares to turn around. It’s always there. Waiting.

 _Time_ , he thinks. _That’s the real monster here._

He thinks maybe it’s time he joins Harry in some of his meditations, because this sense of impending disaster and doom is a real buzzkill in their sex life—or lack thereof.

Just as he’s leaving the loo, there’s a crashing sound upstairs. Louis and Niall look up at the same time as the door to Liam’s bedroom bangs open. It’s Harry’s old one, since he has essentially moved in with Louis downstairs now, but some of his things still remain. Louis sees the look on Liam’s face and the angry red mark on his cheek as he staggers out onto the second-floor landing, and he exchanges a glance with Niall. This is a game they’ve had to play often in the last few weeks.

“What is it now, Liam?” Niall asks, bemused.

“One of Harry’s books—it _hit me_!”

“Hit you,” Niall repeats, sitting up on the sofa. He raises an eyebrow. “Like…how?”

“I opened it,” Liam mimes opening a book, “held it up to look at the pages, but it slammed shut and one side of it slapped me right across the face!”

“Are you sure _you_ didn’t just do that? Maybe your hands twitched. You’re not having one of your weird episodes, are you?” It’s the weirdest thing—and coming from the flat of a vampire, witch, and werewolf, that’s saying something—sometimes, Liam’s hands just stop working. His fingers open, he drops things. He’s the clumsiest person Louis has ever met, and Louis knows Harry quite well by now, so that’s saying something, too.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t, no,” Liam says firmly.

“I think the real question here,” Louis says, pointing up at him, “is why were you opening one of Harry’s books in the first place? It wasn’t one of his journals, was it?”

Liam looks away, his other cheek reddening now. “How should I know,” he grumbles, “it’s not like any of his stuff is _labelled_ or anything…”

“Neither is yours,” Louis says. “Anyway, go ahead and throw it down in mine, all his other stuff is down there anyway.”

“Not all of it,” Liam says, leaning over the bannister. “You know, if you would just let me have the other room—”

“No,” Niall and Louis say at the same time. “It’s…taken,” Niall says, looking down at his hands in his lap.

Liam leans so far over the bannister that he almost goes crashing down into the living room. “Yeah, by someone who doesn’t live here anymore!”

“I’ll talk to Harry,” Louis says smoothly, holding up his hands. “Maybe he’ll agree to bringing some of the things he left behind down into my room. Okay? Is that acceptable?”

Liam consents, edging backward, still frowning. Louis lets out a breath as he goes back into his room, running a hand over his hair. He understands where Liam is coming from, sort of. But Zayn’s room is _still_ his room. It’s just that they can’t explain it to Liam without somehow bringing up the siren and mermaid politics of motherfucking _Atlantis_. Sometimes, it’s the most frustrating thing in the world having someone in the house who isn’t supernatural. It became so normal to them, to not have any secrets and to be as open as they wanted, finally, but now they’re right back in the confusing shit where they started. It’s exhausting. Liam just doesn’t _get it_.

 _We could tell him,_ Louis thinks to himself, tapping his chin. _But who knows how he’d take it?_

As if he can read his mind, Niall says, “Think we should tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says, shrugging loosely. “He did seem to take a book hitting him moderately well. Maybe he can handle it.”

“It _slapped_ him.” Niall snorts out a laugh, grinning. “Good job putting that book in there, though. Top prank, Tommo.”

“Me?” Louis smiles, shaking his head. “I thought you did it!”

“What? No, I did the last one, the invisible notepad that Harry has. Remember, it kept messing up, so it would just go invisible whenever? Drove Liam _mad_ looking for it, and just when he’d find it, it’d be gone again.” Niall claps his hands. “Classic.”

Louis snickers, but he frowns a moment later. “Well if you didn’t do it, and I didn’t do it, then—”

They exchange a look of realization, the knowledge dawning on both of them at the same moment. They muffle their laughter with their fists, but it doesn’t help, leaking out of them all the same. “D’you think—Harry—” Niall says breathlessly. “ _No_. Would he?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Louis says, hunching his shoulders the way he always does when he laughs. “He can be pretty sly when he wants to be.”

“Says the guy who found out he was a witch, what, within a week of living together?”

“Two,” Louis says, cocking an eyebrow. “Which is more than you can say, lad.”

“Yeah, yeah, eat shit.”

Louis smirks all the way into the kitchen, putting the kettle on, grabbing Harry’s favorite mug down from the cupboard, the one Louis bought him that says “Witch’s Brew” on the side. He saw it in a little shop down the road and couldn’t resist. Harry showered him with kisses as thanks and now drinks out of it every chance he gets.

Louis is pouring the water into his mug when— _BOOM!_ The house shakes with the force of an explosion, the floor vibrating. His mug goes jumping toward the edge of the counter, and he grabs for it, holding it in one hand, Harry’s in the other. The dishes clatter against each other in their cupboards and dust rains down from the rafters and eaves. Again, he shields the tea, leaning over it to keep it safe.

After the tremors reside, Louis looks up, looking around. He can hear Harry coughing in the cellar, so he must be okay. But—

“What the _fuck_ was that now?” comes the shout from upstairs.

“Nothing,” Niall yelps back.

“Just the house settling,” Louis shouts, rolling his eyes down at his tea as he sets his and Harry’s mug back down to steep. That’s another favorite excuse of theirs. It definitely came in handy a couple weeks ago when Harry had to chase his cat, Felix, across the roof to get him to take some de-worming tablets.

Niall comes careening into the kitchen. “No, really,” he asks, voice lowered. His face has dust on it. “Liam has a point: What the fuck was that?”

“Let me ask.” Louis glides to the door leading outside, pushing it open. Clouds are gathering on the horizon; he can smell the rain, can taste it heavy in the air. With the wind dragging his fringe into his eyes, he goes to the cellar door and knocks as loudly as he can.

After several seconds, it bangs open and Harry comes crawling out, followed by a thick cloud of bright purple smoke and Felix, all of his black fur standing on end. Both of them are covered in purple soot from head to toe—though upon Louis’ closer inspection, it’s some kind of glittering dust. Only Harry’s eyes are uncovered, a pair of goggles resting on the witch hat he’s wearing over his curls.

“Harry,” Louis says, unable to help smiling at the glittery purple mess before him. “What on earth just happened?”

“I was experimenting,” he says, coughing several more times. Purple dust exits his mouth in little clouds. “Trying to utilize a crystal’s energies.”

“A crystal’s energies.” Louis nods along. “For…?”

I’m working on Niall’s wolfsbane potion, you see. I thought maybe if I imbued a crystal with a type of calming spell—some kind of soothing dirge, only not a dirge really, because dirges are death songs—anyway, the point is, I thought if I imbued it, the crystal’s energies would strengthen it and I could then…” He frowns. “How do I explain this? I could…pull the spell back out and apply it to the potion.”

“You can do all that?”

Harry nods, the witch’s hat bobbing. “Yes. Well, usually. It’s just a mixture of esotericism and chemistry, as well as my own magic. It’s quite complicated though, and I think I must have put too much of the spell into the crystal—or maybe not enough, maybe the energy was too powerful for it and it shorted out? Hence the explosion.” He taps his chin, distracted. “Hm, I need to check my notes. Maybe I should do some more tests. I could always just—”

“Harry?”

He stops, blinking at Louis. “Yes?”

“Hi.”

All of the science and magic goes out of his head all at once; Louis can practically see it melt off his face, can see the workings of his mind as he shuffles it away to the background. “Oh,” he says, and then he’s seeing Louis properly. “Hello. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s cute when you’re all witchy.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “I’m always witchy.”

“Must always be cute then, too.”

Harry grins, looking away quickly. He coughs again and more dust comes clouding out.

“Did I scare Liam?”

“All of us, a bit. Speaking of, uh, allegedly one of your books…hit him? In the face?”

Harry stares for a moment before examining his nails, a look of utter serenity on his face. “Well, maybe he shouldn’t touch other people’s things, then.”

Louis laughs. “You _did_ put that book in there!”

“I caught him reading one of my journals like some kind of nosy schoolmarm, I had to. Even though that’s not even what the spell was supposed to do. It was supposed to stick it shut, but instead it just made it slap people, it went a bit wrong.” He sighs. “Is he all right?”

Louis nods, still laughing. “Yeah, he’s fine. Just confused.”

 “Living with him is harder than I thought it would be. How did we ever live together in secret? I don’t know how to go back to that.” He shakes his head. “Wonder if I could hit him with a memory spell to make him forget…”

“Probably not the best idea. Just a thought.”

“I know, but I can dream.” Harry shrugs. “I just don’t see why he can’t just keep his hands to himself and not touch my things.”

 “He wants you to move them out.”

“I’ve been meaning to, but he’s always around!”

Louis frowns. “What do you mean?”

“If he’s here, I can’t magic them down the stairs, can I?”

“We could pack them up in boxes and carry them, you know. Like regular people.”

Harry wrinkles his nose again, like he’s just smelled something nasty. “Like _regular_ people? I don’t think so, Louis. What’s the point of having powers if I’m not going to use them?”

“I doubt your magic’s ability hinges on household tasks, love.” When Harry makes an angry-kitten-frowny-face at Louis, he holds up his hands in defeat. “But what do I know?”

Harry sighs again, more loudly this time. He picks up Felix, brushing dust off his face. “Why can’t they just get jobs, Lou?”

“Liam and Ni?” Louis shrugs. “Small towns. It’s harder out here.” Suddenly, something makes perfect sense. “Hang on, is that why you’ve been spending so much time in the cellar?”

Harry fiddles with Felix's collar, biting his bottom lip. “Maybe,” he admits. “I love them, but not when they’re always _around_.”

“Trust me, the feeling is mutual.”

Harry lets his hands drop. “Maybe I’ll do a good luck spell on them, see if they can get hired somewhere and soon, because they’re driving me crazy.” He takes a deep breath and Louis can see the spell he works on himself, the tension going out of him as he exhales. He notices all of the spells Harry casts, now. “Anyway. Did you have a nice sleep?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Liar. You were awake, I could feel it.” He tilts his head. “Is everything all right? It’s not me, is it? That I’m there, I mean.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, I love that you’re there. I’m just… getting used to it again. It’s like that expression about riding a bike. You never really forget how, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel weird when you start up again. I’ve just had Niall all these years, and it’s… different.”

“Better?”

“Much better. And of course, when I did get to sleep, there’s all the bloody knocking. ’Spose I should be grateful that he was even knocking to begin with, considering it’s Niall and I didn’t think he even knew _how_ to knock, but it was still annoying.” Louis rolls his eyes. “What about you? How was your day?”

“Good! I saw three chickens at work and a cat had kittens.”

“So your day was like heaven for you, basically.” Louis edges closer, grinning mischievously. “So what about this?”

“What about what?”  

“All this.” Louis gestures to the powder. “What will happen if I kiss you right now?”

“You’ll kiss me. And you’ll get powder on your face and your mouth and your hands. And it’ll taste like dirt.” Harry smiles. “But it’ll taste like me, too.”

 “Fair trade.” Louis reaches for him at the same moment that Harry curls against him, their movements instinctual, one half of the other, fitting together like the edges of a puzzle. Their lips meet and it _is_ somewhat strange, the texture gritty between their lips, but then Harry breathes out through his nose as Louis cups his jaw and the dust is gone. Harry tastes like his magic, like peace and lavender, like soft and lingering sweetness.

“I made you tea,” Louis says when they part for the space of a breath.

“Oh?” Harry smiles, nipping at Louis’ bottom lip. “So domestic of you.”

“Says you. Who’s going to clean up that mess in the cellar, then?”

“Me. And maybe you, if you love me.”

Louis laughs. “You’re so mean, using that against me.”

“Me? No, no, I’m a _good_ witch, see…”

“Uh-huh,” Louis says, kissing him again. He’s going to live probably for another thousand years, if not more. He’s going to see society and civilization change in ways he never could have dreamt, being born as he was during the tenth century. He’s going to see scores of seasons, the earth turning and turning and turning, an endless cycle he may always be a part of. But he figures that would be okay, he’d be fine with it, if it meant he got to have this, right here.

 _But that’s the problem, isn’t it?_ he can’t help thinking. _You won’t have this that long. You’ve got forever, and he’s got…what?_

He pulls away from Harry abruptly. He can’t stop himself.

Harry frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. We’re just going to be late for the stupid flatmate meeting.”

“Oh, toads. I forgot about that.” Harry steps back from Louis, snapping his fingers. The dust flies off him—and Louis—and into the air in a neat little cloud. “Go into the cellar,” he tells it and it flies away. Louis watches it, still amazed by what Harry can do, even as his heart sinks. _How can I make this last forever?_

After Harry locks up the cellar, the two of them take the stairs into the kitchen, only to find Niall sipping from Harry’s mug. Louis glares at him, taking it from him and handing it over to Harry without a word. Harry drinks from it without a hesitation and Niall makes a face at Louis.

“All right, we’re here,” Louis says impatiently while Harry hangs his hat up by the kitchen door, “now let’s get this flatmate meeting cracking, shall we?”

“ _LI-AM_ ,” Niall shouts. “Get down here!”

“Oi, stop the yelling, will you?” Liam asks, striding into the kitchen. “I’m right here.”

“Since when?” Niall blinks in surprise. “I didn’t even hear you come down.”

Liam frowns. “Since now, I guess.” He shrugs, looking around at them. “All right, let’s do this, yeah?” He sets a notepad down on the table and Louis smirks, wondering if it’s the invisible one that was giving him so much trouble.

Louis looks around at the four of them. His smirk widens. _A witch, werewolf, vampire, and—normal human?—sit down at a table to have a flatmate meeting._  Who would have ever guessed?

* * *

Harry can still taste the crystal dust in his mouth and he has a headache. But, at least Louis is sitting next to him at the table, looking dead gorgeous in one of his rumpled jumpers and a worn pair of skinnies, his bare feet hooked together at the ankles. Harry watches him, awed by how good he always looks, his chin in his hand.

“Are you taking _notes_?” Niall asks, wrinkling his nose as they sit down.

“It never hurts to be prepared, Niall. Besides, it’s your stupid meeting, don’t you think—”

“It’s not _stupid_ , it’s important!”

 _Focus,_ he reminds himself, tearing his gaze away from Louis. “Niall’s right,” Harry says, folding his hands calmly. “But so is Liam. Liam, go ahead and take notes for us. First topic: Niall.”

Niall’s blue eyes go wide while Louis tries—and fails—to hide a smile. “ _Me_?”

“Yes, you. How do I say this nicely?” Harry screws up his face. “Um—”

“You’re a layabout,” Louis says bluntly. “It’s been two weeks, almost three. It’s time to press on, lad. Get a job.”

“Get a job? For what?”

“Your share of the rent!”

Niall points at Harry. “He inherited this house! There’s no _rent_.”

Louis frowns. “There are bills, you daft wanker. You think the electricity just happens to work around here?” He starts counting off on his fingers. “There’s the skip bill, the plumbing, the electricity—”

“All right, _Dad_ , settle it down over there.”

“Niall, I love you,” Harry says, patiently looking at his blond, lupine friend. “But please come back from whatever magical fairytale land you’re living in, okay? In reality, we pay rent.”

“Oh, that’s _funny_ , coming from a wi—” Louis makes a hissing noise and Niall stops short, mouth open and eyes wide. Harry clenches his teeth, masking his nervousness with a smile. _He almost just outed me to Liam_ , he thinks, heartbeat stuttering in his chest.

“A what?” Liam asks, looking between the three of them.

“A wizard…enthusiast,” Niall offers, shrugging ever-so-slightly.

Harry just stares at him. He shrugs slightly, mouthing an apology, holding up his hands helplessly.

“A _what_ now?” Liam asks, looking as though he wants to laugh but he’s not sure if this is a joke or not.

“Yeah,” Louis pipes up. “A wizard enthusiast. Didn’t you know?” He wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “He’s gay for Gandalf.”

“Oh, is that why there’s all these wizard hats in the house?” Liam asks, pointing to Harry’s hat hanging up by the kitchen door.

“It’s a witch’s hat,” Harry says, frowning somewhat. He reaches for his tea, taking a sip.

Nobody seems to hear him. “Yep,” Louis says, nodding. “It’s a bit of a kink for him. You should see the things he has me do in bed. Robes, fake beards, spell books—the whole shebang.”

Harry swallows a massive mouthful of tea, coughing and choking. Louis pats his back gently, smiling serenely all the while, as Harry’s eyes water and he tries valiantly to _breathe_. “I hate you,” he manages, voice coming out as a croak.

Louis winks and blows him a kiss.

“Rrrrrright,” Liam says, dragging out the sound. “Shall I just leave that bit out of the notes, then?”

“Probably for the best,” Louis says wisely.

“All right,” Niall says loudly. He taps the notepad. “Write down topic number two: Louis. Fuckin’ slob. Write _that_ down word for word. Never does the damn dishes, despite the fact that a lot of them are _stained_ because of him. Right?” He looks at Harry. “You know I’m right. Because he drinks a lot of… _wine_.”

“Yes,” Louis says dryly, looking scathingly at Niall. “I’m such a vino. Love my red wines. The redder, the better.”

“More like the deader, the better,” Niall mutters.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Louis says loudly. “You’re just being petty now, and it’s neither cute nor funny.”

“I’m not, actually. You never clean. Harry does all the cleaning up ’round here. It’s not fair, innit?”

“You don’t clean up, either,” Harry says, when he can finally speak properly again. He can’t get the image of Louis dressed as some sort of sexy Gandalf out of his head and he feels like banging his head against a wall for a while.

“That’s _beside the point_ ,” Niall says. “You do everything around here. Don’t you want help?”

Harry shrugs, trying to clear his head. “I don’t mind. I like cleaning. Besides, if I let you pay the bills, you’d probably—” Harry stops. _Oh_ , he thinks to himself. _That’s probably rude, isn’t it?_ It’s been a long day, and the crystals have him frustrated.

“Probably what? Cock it up?” Niall slaps his hand on the table. “Challenge fucking accepted, mate. Let me do the bills next month. I’ll show you I can help out around here.” Before Harry can speak, Niall points at Louis. “But if I do, Louis has to clean up.”

“What, everything? I thought this was just about the dishes—”

“You sayin’ you can’t hack it?”

“Oh my _god_ , Niall. Since when are you so up in arms over Harry taking a break?”

“Since he’s—y’know, doing so much for me,” Niall says, shrugging uncomfortably. “And since when are you _not_?”

Liam's eyes flick back and forth between them. 

“Fine,” Louis says, fixing Niall with an icy glare. “I’ll clean if you do the bills. Harry can finally fucking relax without having to follow you around like the child you are.”

“Fine,” Niall says loftily, looking down at the table.

Harry just stares at them. There is something he’s come to realize, living with the two of them the last six months. They’re best friends who have been through hell together and they quite obviously love and care for each other. But they’ve been together for a _long time_. They met two centuries ago, after all. It’s one thing that Louis is home every day, but with the two of them around each other all day, all the time? It’s not working. Sometimes, they just need a break. And what’s that saying? Familiarity breeds discontent. _No kidding,_ Harry thinks, letting out a breath. He stifles a giggle, thinking to himself, _A werewolf and vampire just had a row over me._ Today has been one round of insane after another.

“Okay,” Liam says, looking unsurely at Niall and Louis. “I’ve written that down. Should we…I dunno, sign it or something? Like a contract?”

“Nah, we’ve got our own way of doing it.” There’s a pause where Liam waits for them to do it, but Louis shakes his head. “We’ll do it later, let’s finish this first.”

“Well,” Liam says, looking down at the notepad. “Does anyone want to say anything about Harry? Or me?”

“Yeah,” Niall says moodily, “if I have to get a job, so do you.”

Liam frowns innocently. “I have a job.”

“You do?” They exchange looks of surprise.

“Yeah. Down at the pub.”

“Oh. Wow! Congratulations,” Harry says, smiling at Liam. “Thanks, by the way. It’s okay for now, honestly. I still have some inheritance from my great-great-aunt left and Louis is…independently wealthy so—”

Niall snorts.

“—so it’s not a pressing issue, Niall,” Harry says, looking at him. “But, y’know. Maybe just work on it a bit when you can.”

“Thanks, Harry,” he says. “Glad to know at least _one_ of you isn’t a cunt.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Liam says, slapping his pen down on the notepad loudly. “Was that it? Because I’ve got a date,” he checks his watch, “with my girlfriend in an hour, and I’ve got to meet her.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Thanks, Liam,” Harry says, smiling at him again. He watches him get up and go, Liam humming to himself and shaking his head somewhat as he heads upstairs. _He’s probably wondering who the hell he moved in with_ , Harry thinks. He scowls at Niall and Louis, who are ardently avoiding each other’s gaze.  _A bunch of prats, that’s who._

Without speaking, Louis fetches a knife. He and Niall slice their palms, slapping them together in a handshake, sealing the deal in blood. Harry wants to roll his eyes because, making a blood oath over household duties? Honestly? He's never met a more dramatic pair of supernatural friends in his life, which is saying quite a lot, considering he can summon literal hurricanes of glitter with a snap of his fingers. 

 

There’s a long beat of silence when they're finished until the grandfather clock goes off in the sitting room, announcing the evening hour. Harry lets out a long breath. “Niall?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“When’s the full moon this month? You, um, didn’t mark the calendar.” Yet another thing they’re trying to work on, to head off these collisions before they happen.

Niall sighs loudly. “Day after tomorrow.”

“Mm-hm.” That explains it. “I’m really sorry, I’m working on that potion for you, it’s just so _difficult_ —”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Niall mutters, shoving his chair back and getting up.

It sort of happens in slow motion. Harry, surprised into speechlessness, turns to Louis, looking for some kind of answer, some reaction that will help him process all of these emotions that he can’t keep up with. What he sees makes him forget about the shock of Niall’s moontime moods. 

Louis’ eyes are red and his fangs are out. His sharp cheekbones are shadowed by the kitchen’s overhead light and he looks genuinely frightening, ready to attack. _This_ is the visage he’s always warning Harry about, the danger that he tells him he ought to be afraid of. “Hey,” he snaps, getting up from the table so fast that Harry sees only a blur of motion in blues and blacks, the color of his clothes. “Don’t you dare blame your problems on Harry! He’s done nothing but try to help you.”

Niall whips around and Harry swears his eyes go yellow for just a moment, his pupils narrowed. “Get away from me,” he snarls.

In one instant, not even considering the danger, Harry is floating between them, holding them at arm’s length away from each other. “All right, that’s more than enough! Niall, maybe you should go for a walk, cool off for a bit.”

“Anything to get out of here,” he says sullenly, heading for the door. He slams it behind him and the windows rattle for the second time that day.

Harry doesn’t even need to touch Louis to feel the tension in him, the tension that’s still hanging in the air, polluting every particle of energy. Negativity crackles like lightning around them, as dark and heavy as the approaching storm on the horizon. Harry silently casts a spell to banish it from the room, his own magic purifying the air, before he turns to Louis and throws his arms around him.

Harry’s life, by nature, is defined by rules. Being a witch, there are a number of tenets and creeds he has to follow: Don’t show your powers off to people who don’t believe or understand. Don’t cast on anyone without their consent. Be careful of the energy you put out in the universe, because it will always find a way back to you. He lives his life every day with the rules always in the back of his mind.

There are other rules, too. His Louis rules, the ones Louis put down to keep him safe during their foray into blood-drinking, the ones they haven’t properly tested yet.

Louis stiffens in his grasp. Harry is breaking one of those rules. When the fangs are out, he’s not supposed to make any sudden movements, not supposed to touch Louis at all—but he can’t just leave him standing there, wanting to murder his best friend.

It only takes a moment for Louis to relax, to wrap his arms around Harry and bury his face in Harry’s neck. He lets out a breath, a blossom of warmth heating Harry’s skin through his shirt. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, but he’s being such a _dick_ —”

“I know,” Harry says, stroking Louis’ back. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to kill him in the kitchen.”

“I’ll do it in the sitting room, then.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but smile a little. “How about we don’t kill anyone? Is that okay?” _No more anger_ , he imagines, letting the spell trail out of him. _No more fear, no more stress._

Louis’ hands tighten on Harry’s shoulders. “He was _rude_ to you, darling.” 

“I know. But again, murder? Not the best plan.”

“All right, I’ll admit it’s not the greatest. But it’s instinct.” Louis leans back to look Harry in the eyes. A tiny frown is sitting on his face. “Speaking of, you broke the rules.”

“I know. But you needed me.”

“What if I’d done something? I could have hurt you—”

“ _Louis_.” Harry cups his cheeks. “You wouldn’t. At some point in your long life, you’re going to have to start trusting yourself.” He kisses him. “I love you. Let’s go for a walk.”

Louis blinks, processing everything Harry just told him. He nods, slowly at first, then more insistently. “I love you, too,” he says. “Okay.”

With the storm moving in and the sun down, it’s gone chilly, and Louis waits patiently while Harry throws on a jumper that belongs to him and that scarf he was wearing when they met. They walk down the lane away from Greater Gloomingshire toward the field alongside the house, hand in hand, Louis leading slightly as his eyesight is better. They don’t talk for a few minutes, the only sounds the autumn night: crickets chirping and moths fluttering around them, bats flapping overhead; the wind rattling through the dying bushes along the path; and the distant rushing of the waves against the shore, the rumble of thunder just audible over it.

Lightning flashes against the horizon, a quick snapshot of light, there and gone in an instant. “Storm’s coming,” Louis murmurs. He’s calm now; Harry can feel it through the connection of their palms, in the twining of their fingers.

“It’ll be okay,” Harry says. He’s not really sure if he means the storm or life in general. Either. Both.

Louis grips his hand a little tighter. “I’ve just had an idea, Harry.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t have work tomorrow, right?” As if Louis needs to ask. He has Harry’s schedule memorized. Still, it pays to be polite, and he can be when he wants to—to the right people.

“No, why?”

“I was thinking we could maybe go out tonight. I need to get out of the house, especially after all that just now. Besides, I wanted to show you something. You’ve been so great with your magic and what your life is like, explaining things to me. And I thought maybe it’d be nice if I returned the favor. Showed you a bit of what my life has been.”

Harry stares at him, eyes wide and sparkling. He can’t resist the opportunity. “Are you going to take me on a ride through the woods?”

Louis immediately frowns. “Harry, we’ve had this discussion. _Twilight_ is not real.”

He laughs, clapping his hands together. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t help it.” Still smiling like he wants very badly to laugh, he says, “Okay, what do you want to show me?”

“You know that scene in _Harry Potter_ when he goes to the bank for the first time?”

Harry nods, mouth hanging open with the suspense.

“It’s going to be kind of like that.”

* * *

Liam and Niall are both gone when they return to the house to fetch Zayn’s keys from the bowl in the sitting room. Louis learned to drive in the 1960s, but he still isn’t very much a fan of it, so he lets Harry take the wheel. He jokingly goes too fast for the first few minutes, but then he settles into a comfortable five kilometres over the limit and keeps his green eyes carefully on the road, except for the moments he’s looking at Louis with an inquisitive, eager smile, asking for directions to wherever they’re going and any kind of hint. Louis is relentless; he just smirks and shakes his head, promising it’ll be worth the wait.

They hit every green light on the way there—almost like it’s _magic_ —and when Louis glances at Harry out of the corner of his eye, Harry is grinning slyly, his eyes reflecting the lights.

He guides them to the outskirts of London, to a carpark under a single yellow light that occasionally flickers orange, to a labyrinth of storage units. They get out of the car, Harry looking around curiously.

“ _This_ is it?”

Louis glances over at him. “Yes, why?”

Harry starts laughing. He covers his mouth to drown out the sound, but that does exactly nothing to stop it from echoing around the empty rows of sheds and warehouses.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was expecting Gringotts! I thought you were going to lead me to some Batcave or like a secret underground vault, not _this_.”

“Oh I’m _sorry_ , Harold, my Batcave’s being renovated right now, along with my secret underwater base in the Atlantic and my hidden rocket launch pad in Siberia.” 

“Zayn _does_ have that, you know.”

“A hidden rocket launch pad in Siberia? Wow, good on him.”

“Ha-ha.” Harry skips around the front of the car, reaching for Louis’ hand. “So?”

“So what?”

“Where’s the _thing_?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you weren’t impressed.”

“No, I am,” Harry yelps quickly, and Louis smiles, kissing his cheek. He pulls gently on Harry’s hand, leading him through the maze of storage units.

They stop outside one of the larger units and Louis fishes a key out of his pocket while Harry conjures a little globe of white light for him to see by. “You could just use your phone, you know,” Louis says, to which Harry replies, “Well, that’s just no fun, isn’t it?”

Louis unlocks the padlock on the handle with a smile and raises the shuttered door, the metal rattling as it zooms up into the unit. He nudges Harry inside next to him and pulls the rolling shutter back down behind them, leaving them in total darkness except for the tiny globe of light.

“Um, Lou—”

“Give me a sec,” he says and Harry hears him rustling around, fingers scrabbling over the wall. There’s a flicking sound and the light buzzes to life suddenly, Harry throwing an arm up to shield his eyes against the sudden brightness. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they do, he can’t believe what he’s looking at. Slowly, Harry lowers his arm, mouth falling open.

A veritable horde of antiques and treasures is staring back at him, looming all the way up to the ceiling. Razor-sharp katanas and qiang spears lean in large pots in corners or rest on nails along the walls beside several swords and a shield emblazoned with a Knights Templar cross; beneath a Revolutionary War musket, there’s a clockwork pistol carved with the letters _E.T.C._ , beside which sits a shelf and on it, an old World War II landmine. Thick pieces of armor in tarnished silver stand on faceless mannequins in front of tapestries with dull stitching that cover the walls. Everywhere Harry looks, there’s something new: decorative bowls painted with dancing figures; jeweled goblets; dusty paintings, their frames losing their gilt; moth-eaten clothing with fading colors; flags in tatters that still hold the oxidized remnants of battles; coins of different shapes and jewels in every shade spilling out of bowls and chests with rotted, rusted hinges. Stashed away here are the seemingly endless pieces of the lives Louis lived before, little things that were once meaningless, but are now significant.  

“This is how I get my money,” Louis says, looking around with raised eyebrows. “I sell this stuff to collectors, museums, historians, universities. They pay me top dollar for things I would have thrown out several centuries ago. Some of it is me giving back, too. Some of these are things I shouldn’t have taken, things that belong back with their people and cultures; those ones I donate.” He smiles, running his hand through the dust on a stack of scrolls, the edges of the parchment singed slightly. “I figure I have enough to keep me going for a while.”

“This is…” Harry can’t finish that sentence. There aren’t any words that he knows to describe this. “Louis, I’m…”

“I know. Pretty cool, right?”

“ _Cool_ doesn’t even begin to cover it.” He flashes Louis a grin. “Can I look around?”

“Of course! Just be careful. There’s some pretty wild stuff in here.” Louis pulls out a piece of paper, reading over it. “I’m looking for an illuminated Bible, there’s a museum that wants one in Germany.”

They get lost in the winding aisles, in the towering monuments of history. Harry spends the first hour looking around, touching everything, committing it to memory. He finds a handwritten copy of Machiavelli’s _The Prince_ , a cameo from Queen Elizabeth I’s coronation, a ruby roughly the size of his fist, an elaborate music box that doesn’t work, a case of Spanish wine, a few war medals from different countries, a broken Tesla coil, some decaying maps of what looks like Europe and Asia in its early days of organization, delicate paintings of nature scenes in what appears to be Japan, and a stack of letters all in French that Harry can’t read. He only recognizes the name in some of them, _Lafayette_. He sets those back down gently. He thinks there’s even a chariot somewhere in the back, but he can’t be sure, there are too many shelves in his way to see properly.

By the time Louis tracks him down, Harry is relaxing on an old chaise lounge with gold claw feet, reading through some Alexandrian scrolls and Enlightenment books Louis has stacked precariously high. Beside him is an old Steinway piano covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

“Aha!” Louis says, pointing to the piano. “I wondered where that got off to.”

“Does it hide on you often?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Louis sits down on the piano’s bench, pretending to move aside coattails and straighten a pair of gloves.

“Lou, I would pay you to let me inventory this place,” Harry says, shutting one of the books with a snap. He reaches for a small pouch on the floor, peering inside at the runes that click against each other. He reaches in and pulls out a small polished bone. “This is some ancient magic. I can’t imagine what else you might have in here.”

Louis glances back, hands hovering over the keys. “I figured you’d like it. And you know, I keep telling myself I’m going to organize it, but I never really get around to it.”

“All the time in the world and you still can’t be arsed to organize your dragon’s hoard of treasure?”

His grin only widens. “Dragon’s hoard. I like that image.” He closes his eyes for a moment before he quickly opens them again, glancing back. “And before you ask, yes, dragons were real.”

“I knew it,” Harry whispers, his eyes shining as Louis starts plunking out a jaunty, out-of-tune song. He can’t wait to tell his mum and Gemma about all of this. He can’t wait to tell them _everything_ —starting with the fact that his boyfriend is a thousand-year-old vampire. He pictures their reaction and can’t help laughing, sneezing a moment later at the clouds of dust his laughter disturbs and sends into the air. He sneezes twice more and Louis stops playing, too busy laughing.

They spend another hour going through the numerous chests and armoires, pulling out different clothes from time. There are dozens of fur coats, moth-eaten gloves, waistcoats with buttons missing, top hats, and even several canes with different silver heads. One of them is a wolf, and Harry instantly thinks of Niall.

Harry pulls out a redcoat at the same time that Louis drops a weathered tricorn hat on his head, its feather eaten away by time. “Louis,” Harry says, holding the redcoat up. “Tell me you _didn’t_.”

“Fight for the crown?” He shakes his head. “I was a _spy_.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “You were one of us spying on your own government?”

“An eighteenth century James Bond. It was all quite thrilling. Until they tried to hang me for treason.” Louis clasps his neck with both hands, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes. “Not fun. That’s definitely the most uncomfortable time someone tried to kill me.”

Harry frowns, lowering the coat back into a chest. “How many times have people tried to kill you?”

“Uh…” Louis pauses, one hand on a hip. He looks like a very thoughtful, attractive pirate. “Well, I guess that depends. In combat, for committing a crime, or for no reason?”

“All of them.”

Louis blinks. “Wow, uh. I’m thinking…forty-seven? Wait, no. Forty-nine. I was shot during a riot in the 1970s. I think that was the last time. Unless you count that time with Niall in the 80s.”

“What time with Niall?”

“Oh, we had a row.” Louis waves a hand airily. “Nothing, really.”

“He tried to kill you?”

“He’s done it before. So have I. Hence why today wasn’t so odd.” Louis shrugs. “We spend too much time together sometimes, but we’re always fine later. You watch. He won’t apologize with words, but I guarantee he’ll apologize.”

Yet again, Harry is struck by the immense scope of Louis’ life. “And all this is just…normal?”

“Pretty much. Once you’ve died the first time, everything after that is kind of…boring, really. Because none of it ever matters. I mean, unless they cut my head off, which almost happened once, but it's a long story.”

Harry goes back to digging around in the chest, eyes lighting up as his hands close on a familiar item. “ _Ooh_. Were these yours?” He pulls out a pair of boots, the heels easily three or four inches.

Louis stares at them with a sour expression on his face. “Yes. They used to be the fashion for men. The point was to be tall, but I am tall _enough_ , thank you.”

Harry laughs. “All right, sore spot, I get it.” He drops the boots, coming up with something else that has him flashing a look in Louis’ direction. “Louis, I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation for this.”

It’s a priest’s cassock. Louis grins when he sees it, nodding. “Oh, sure. I was a priest for a little while.”

“Willingly?”

“Once, yes. The other time I was just impersonating one.”

“Why?”

“Secret reasons. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He makes a gun with his finger and thumb, pointing it at Harry. “British spy, remember?”

“Uh-huh, all right.”  Harry stuffs the cassock back into the chest.

“Luckily, not a codpiece in sight. _Not_ my favorite fashion accessory of history, let me tell you.”

Harry smiles, about to close the chest, when he sees something glimmering inside. His fingers close around it and he holds it up to the light.

“What about this?”

It’s a plain gold crown, no more than a circlet, really, long since been tarnished by dust and time. Dull stones that might have once been vibrant circle the metal, all blues, reds, and greens in a thick pattern, some oranges and purples mixed in there, too. Small pearls trace the edges, still shining faintly.

Louis glances over. He’s still smiling but Harry sees the flash of— _something_ —in his eyes. “Oh, wow. Haven’t seen that in a while.” Louis kicks the armoire shut, moving toward Harry. He takes the crown and holds it up over his head, though he doesn’t wear it. “You know, it’s not supposed to be in there. It’s very old, pretty delicate.”

Just as he says that, something clatters to the floor. It’s one of the gemstones from the crown, a piece of what seems to be amethyst. “See?” Louis says, bending down to pick it up. “Falling apart. Let’s just…” He takes it and opens one of the many cupboards in there, setting it gently on a shelf beside a silhouette portrait. He closes the cupboard quickly, handing the amethyst to Harry. “Here.”

Harry holds it carefully cupped in his palm, looking down at it. There’s a tiny crack in it.

“It’s weird, innit? Looks perfectly normal, but it’s from something ten lifetimes ago.” Louis touches it gently. “Like it’s from an entirely different world.”

“Like you.”

He looks up at Harry. “Yeah. Just like me.”

They sit on a stack of carpets and fabrics, flipping carefully through the illuminated Bible until Harry gets a text from Niall asking where they disappeared to. He keeps the amethyst in his pocket, touching it every few minutes to make sure it’s still there.

“We should probably go back,” he says softly as Louis shuts the book and puts it gently into a special case.

Louis nods. “Want to be my middleman and take this to the post for me tomorrow? I'd go, but y'know, that pesky sun.”

“Yes! This is so exciting. Can we put it in one of those fancy silver cases and handcuff it to my wrist?”

“Life is always a movie with you.” Louis leans over and kisses Harry on the edge of his jaw. “There are better uses for handcuffs, you know.”

Harry’s hands slip for a moment on the case, his brain melting and losing all faculties. “Right,” he mumbles, “right, absolutely.” He slides a glance in Louis’ direction, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “Care to show me?”

Louis laughs, swinging his key around on his finger. “One of these days. I’m sure I’ve got a pair around here somewhere.”

Harry is too busy imagining the intended uses to reply. 

As they’re leaving, Louis glances back at the piano with a wistful sigh. “Wish we could drag that out of here back to the house. It’d be nice to have something to do to drown out those other two.”

Harry grins, setting the case down. “Well, it just so happens your boyfriend is a witch.” He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, shaking his curls back from his face. “Ready?”

“For whatever it is, sure!”

“Okay, close your eyes.”

Louis does as he’s told, smiling and rocking back on his heels.

Harry levitates the piano into the air, then casts a spell to make it disappear—and appear back home. “Okay,” he says when he’s done, “you can open your eyes!”

Louis’ mouth falls open. “What’d you do with it?”

“Sent it home, of course!” He frowns. “It _should_ be in the sitting room. I hope Niall and Liam were still gone. It would be pretty unfortunate to go back and find I’ve crushed one of our flatmates with a piano.”

“Can’t say I’ve had that happen to me, at least.” Louis checks his phone, the light from its screen illuminating his face. “Well, I have a text asking where the fuck the piano came from, so I think it’s safe to assume they’re all right.”

“I don’t want to go back yet,” Harry says, sighing as they wind their way back through the stacks of accumulated history. Louis salutes the bust of a woman Harry doesn’t recognize as they leave and he smiles, leaning against the wall outside as Louis locks up.

“So let’s not. Let’s find some trouble to get into.”

The moon is nearly full in between thickening clouds, a waxing gibbous on the verge of spilling over to flood the night sky with light. There’s an itch under his skin, some urge pulling at his heartstrings from within; he’s restless. Harry doesn’t want to go back there yet, doesn’t want to be enclosed by walls. He smiles at Louis, his hands in his pockets. The amethyst sits there, cool against his fingers.

“I have just the thing.”

* * *

“Harry Styles,” Louis says when they’re alone, just one light on in the entire building. “I may have underestimated you.” He looks up at Harry from where he’s laying on the tile floor.

Harry glances over. A white cat is sitting in his lap, watching every one of their movements closely. Three white and two calico forms squirm on the ground around them. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says, smiling, gently petting the cat. She ignores him, watching every one of her kittens like a hawk. Any time Louis moves, her pupils narrow.

“This is by far the most trouble I’ve ever gotten into. Ever. And you!” He shakes his head. “Breaking into your own work just so we can pet kittens?” He _tsks_ quietly. “You use your powers for evil, after all.” 

“Evil?” Harry picks up one of the kittens, touching its head tenderly as it mews blindly. “You’re not evil, are you, Petal?”

“Oh, no. Now you’re naming them?”

“Of course! I can’t just call them numbers. This one is Petal,” Harry sets it down next to its mother. “Then there’s Adele, Verbena, Lilac, and Cleo.”

“Adele?”

“Her music is beautiful.”

Louis nods in agreement, reaching out to pet Cleo’s tiny back. Their mother, Duchess—after _The Aristocats_ , Louis was told—folds her ears back but otherwise doesn’t move from her fort of Harry’s crossed legs.

 “I’ve corrupted you,” he says. “Look at this blatant disrespect for work hours.”

“Louis, someone had to come back in and check on them. They’re _babies_.”

“It’s too late for justifications now, Harry. We’re _criminals._ ”

“I’m okay with that. We’re petting kittens.”

Louis sighs happily, looking at all the tiny kittens. “Same here. I forgot what it feels like to just…be with someone. To just sit and be quiet and pet kittens.” He smiles. “It’s nice.”

Harry watches Louis, taking in the way his shoulders are relaxed and not a single one of his smiles is guarded. He’s relaxed, calm, something Harry strives for every day, trying to remind Louis that he’s good and wonderful and that he’s all that Harry needs. It’s a nice change from earlier, from the tension that marks their household now with every thought. This is what he wanted all along: a space away for just them, wherever that space might be. They deserve it. Everything has been about the household for so long that he almost forgot they needed their own time, just the two of them.

He watches Louis look at each kitten and pet it and coo lovingly at it, giving each of them the same amount of attention. _He’s gonna be a great dad,_ he thinks before he can stop himself. His chest aches at the thought, a sense of sadness and longing almost overwhelming him. Because something is _wrong_ , he just can’t tell what it is. They’re together, but Louis is still afraid of something, still holding back.

“Hey,” Harry says quietly.

Louis looks up, smiling. He frowns a little like he’s confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

It hits Louis unexpectedly, almost, like maybe he forgot. His eyes go a little wide, his frown relaxing into pleased surprise. “I love you, too.”

The clock on the wall announces midnight and Harry grudgingly puts Duchess and her kittens back in their cubicle, making sure she has water and that there’s a warm blanket for the kittens. He promises to stop by the next day just to see them, even though he’s off work. He’s sure his boss won’t mind a bit.

Thunder crashes directly overhead as he’s locking up, Louis standing at his elbow, looking up at the sky. “Looks pretty nasty,” he murmurs.

“We should go,” Harry says. “C’mon.”

The wind whips up as they dash across the street to where Harry parked. Harry can taste the rain, can tell it’ll fall any second, the entirety of nature alive and ready to celebrate in a violent, thrilling clash of earth and sky. Just before Harry can reach for the car door, he feels Louis grab his hand.

“Wait,” he says. When Harry turns, Louis is right there, and their lips meet. Lightning flashes overhead as Harry wraps his arms around Louis, bending ever so slightly to bring them closer.

The sky opens up and it starts to rain.

“Shit,” Louis says as they part and the both of them clamber into the car, damp and laughing. Harry shakes rain drops out of his curls in time for Louis to lean across the console and kiss him again, one hand on his neck, the tips of his fingers skating over Harry’s jaw.

“Do you want to—” Harry manages.

“Yes,” Louis says quickly. “Right now. Please.”

The car is quiet, the only sound the steady pattering of the rain, but it’s loud in Harry’s head. Right now. He can’t believe this is happening.

Louis crooks a finger at him and there’s something so sultry about the mere motion that Harry feels a shiver go through him. He grins. “C’mere,” he says, voice thick already. Harry can’t believe this, he honestly can’t. Louis has been alive for over a thousand years and he gets affected like this for him. Just for him. It’s almost too much to think about, his body going warm and heady with desire.

Harry does as he’s told, practically scrambling across the console in the center, almost kicking the gearshift into drive. Louis makes an _“oof”_ noise when Harry plops into his lap, but he smiles, eyes crinkling, to let him know he’s joking.

“You’re so warm,” Louis says, hugging him quickly, arms wrapped around his midsection, face pressed to Harry’s chest. “All the time. I love it.”

“It’s only because you’re so cold.” He is, the chill of him going deep into Harry’s bones through their clothes. His teeth almost chatter when he asks, “When was the last time you ate?”

Louis mumbles something into Harry’s shirt and he has to tug lightly on his hair to get him to look up. Louis bites his lip when he does, eyes locked firmly on Harry’s lips. “Hey,” Harry says, touching Louis’ chin. “Food?”

“Last time,” Louis mutters distractedly.

“Last time…last time with _us_? That first time?”

“Yes.” He’s avoiding Harry’s gaze now, definitely.

“ _Louis_.”

He winces. “Not the disappointed tone. Please, anything but that.”

“You have _got_ to stop. If you need blood, tell me!”

“I wanted to give you time to get used to the idea of it all.”

“You wanted to give me time, or _you_ needed time?”

Louis leans back, the long column of his throat exposed. Harry wants to be the vampire for once; he wants to bite him there and suck and kiss and feel his blood pulsing through him. He imagines Louis’ heartbeat going crazy for him and him alone.

“Both,” Louis admits grudgingly. “I mean, I’m a _vampire_ , feeding on your life force. It feels, I dunno, wrong somehow.”

“Louis, it’s a consenting act between two adults. I am one hundred percent on board with this. I _want_ you to feed on me.”

Louis’ entire countenance shifts when Harry says that. He goes from looking ashamed and hesitant back to that seductive aura he was exuding, his gaze softening on Harry. He bites his lip again. There’s a look of mischief in his eyes that is both worrisome and sexy all at once.

“Well, we’re already here,” he says quietly. “You remember the rules?”

He was kind of drunk that night, drunk and in pain on the couch, an ice pack pressed to the bite mark on his neck. “Erm. Dimly?” He can’t help but shift forward, sliding further into Louis’ lap, smiling at the way his mouth falls open the tiniest bit, his hands moving to the small of Harry’s back. “Remind me?”

“No sudden movements,” Louis says, kissing Harry’s chest. “No touching me.”

“But _why_ ,” he whines, and his voice is far breathier than he’d like to admit, but it’s just the two of them and he’s so far past the point of caring, there’s no helping it now.

“Because this is, in and of itself, a predatory act. It’s like when they tell you not to turn your back on a tiger, or run from a bear. You don’t want to look like—”

“Prey,” Harry finishes, swallowing thickly. “Right.”

 “Uh-huh.”

“Remember what I said earlier, though? About trusting yourself?”

“Yes, and it was very wise of you, Harold. But for now, considering it’s only the second time, I’d really rather get into a rhythm first before we start all the therapy and healing stuff. Okay?” Louis touches Harry’s chin with the pad of one finger. “Trust _me_ on that, yeah?”

He huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes. “Oh, all right.”

Louis reaches for his hands, threading their fingers together as he gently winds Harry’s arms behind his back. “Basically, I’d just rather not turn into Niall during this.”

“That is a very unsexy mental image, thank you.” Even as he says it, his heartbeat skips around at the feeling of his arms being restrained by Louis.

“Oh, sorry.” He leans in, speaking against Harry’s mouth. “Are you not feeling it anymore?”

He shakes his head hurriedly. “I’m feeling it,” he insists, pressing their lips together.

They kiss the way they always do, deep and completely, like they’re drowning and need each other for air. There’s something more demanding in it this time, though, more fierce and desperate; Harry can see where it’s going, finally, where they’re going to end up together. He makes a noise in the back of his throat as Louis digs his nails into the backs of his hands, shifting his hips beneath him so Harry sits even higher in his lap, his knees pressed hard into the back of the seat.

Louis drags his mouth away to kiss Harry’s collarbone, nipping at it through his shirt, and he pants against Louis’ hair, unable to stop the twisting of his hips, the way he grinds down against Louis. Louis growls softly and heat races through Harry, urging him on even further.

Louis trails kisses against Harry’s neck like that first time, but these ones are messier, more needy. _It’s been four hundred years,_ he reminds himself and rocks forward into Louis’ lap, smiling at his little groan.

Louis throws his head back, bringing his hands up to Harry’s face. Obediently, Harry keeps his wrists crossed behind his back as Louis cups his face, his thumbs softly moving across his cheekbones to his hair, deep into his curls. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” Louis says, grabbing hold of his hair to tilt his head to the side. He presses his mouth to the base of Harry’s throat. He doesn’t speak, but Harry hears the words anyway: _I want to devour you._

He nods dazedly, panting, and the prick of fangs come to life at the side of his throat. Louis clamps down harder than the first time and Harry lets out a broken cry as the fangs go straight into his skin. That bright flash of burning pain dulls against the feeling of his clothed cock against Louis, his hips snapping almost of their own accord. Louis has to pull away to gasp and blood goes spilling down Harry’s neck into his jumper, staining the cream fabric a dark crimson. With every beat of his heart, his neck aches.

Almost distantly, he feels Louis’ hands move, feels the zipper on his jeans drag down, and then Louis’ cold hand is stroking him in his pants and he’s trembling. Louis is so cold, it’s an instant jolt; he moans, burying his face in the crook of Louis’ neck. Louis turns to face him, dragging his tongue up the spilled blood on Harry’s neck, fastening his mouth on the bite, drinking him deep, breathing hard against Harry’s ear, and he’s so cold, so hot and cold, it’s driving Harry _insane_. He sucks in a mouthful and Harry’s back arches at the sensation as he whimpers.

He almost forgot what it was like—almost. But there’s no forgetting this feeling, not for the rest of his life. It’s light and heat and a thousand lifetimes, and he can feel every atom in the air around them as each one of his hairs on the back of his neck stands up. He rocks against Louis with more urgency, faster, harder. He can feel Louis getting hard under him and he licks his neck, grinning as Louis shivers, his skin warming with Harry’s blood.

Harry groans into Louis’ mouth as he shoves down his own jeans, freeing his cock alongside Harry’s in his hand. Harry’s lips are sticky with his own blood, but he likes it. The only thing that matters is Louis’ hand working them both frantically in time, his fingers making Harry shake. He's going to come in a matter of minutes like a teenage boy, but it's been so long, too long for both of them. 

“Want to come for me?” Louis asks, his voice low. There’s blood smeared on his chin and Harry almost loses it at the very sight.

He strains forward, kissing Louis fiercely, messily in answer. His mouth tastes like blood, hot and metallic like a handful of pennies, but Harry doesn’t care, _can’t_ care, because his head is still so light and Louis’ tongue is in his mouth and he’s _grinding_ against Harry so filthily that he can’t breathe, can hardly move, every inch of him thrumming with need.

Outside, the rain surges down harder than it was before, pounding against the car in waves. Neither of them notices. Louis moves faster and Harry presses a hand against the window, breathless whines seeping out of him with every stroke.

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, biting his lip. “Louis, I’m gonna—” The rain outside turns to hail, beating down against the car with a senseless fury.

“Do it,” Louis commands. “Come for me, baby.”

Harry screws his eyes shut tight, his breaths climbing, each moan louder. “Fuck, Louis, I’m—” Lightning lights the entire sky and thunder explodes overhead. He buries his face against Louis’ neck again, biting his shoulder as he comes with a muffled scream. Louis grunts at the sensation, his cock slick with Harry’s come as he works himself off, shooting against his stomach and Harry’s a moment later, groaning against Harry’s neck.

They stay like that for a long time, heads leaning on shoulders, Louis’ soft waves intertwined with Harry’s curls. Outside, the rain resides to a finer mist, the earlier gale almost vanishing completely.

Harry lets out a quivering breath, stirring slightly. “I can’t move,” he mumbles.

Louis chuckles. “I don’t even want to.”

There's another beat of silence until Harry says, "I've been wanting to do that forever."

"Me too. But—"

"You wanted to wait. I know." Harry kisses his neck and Louis stirs beneath him, turning to brush his lips across Harry’s cheek. “So, um, is that…I mean…” Harry shakes his head a little. “I don’t know what I’m trying to ask.”

“It’s not always a sexual encounter, like last time. But more often than not, it is. I mean, there’s just something inherently sexy about necks, you know? Like yours, for instance, is nice.” Louis kisses his bite gently and Harry winces a little. “This is still bleeding, by the way.”

Harry reaches up to staunch the blood with his jumper sleeve. It’s already covered in it, a little more can’t hurt. “I think it’s very interesting. You could say in an entirely scientific fashion that it’s _literally_ me making you hard. Because without my blood, you can’t be.”

“Yes, you could say that,” Louis says dryly, smiling. “Scientifically…” He pokes Harry’s hip. “Egotistically.”

Harry laughs, managing to sit up. His jumper is wet with blood and his jeans are sticky, but he’s happier than he’s ever been. His body is warm and slow now, a pool of Louis-induced happy in Louis’ now-very warm arms.

There’s a flush to his skin as he brushes Harry’s hair back from the sweat lining his forehead, touching his shoulder gently. “You all right?”

“Yep.” Touching his bare hand to his neck, he screws up his face in concentration and casts a healing spell on himself. There’s a flash of bright light, a burst of quick pain, and then his neck is as good as new, just two faint red marks left behind. “What about you?” he asks, sitting back on Louis’ knees. “How are you?”

“Buzzing,” he says sleepily, and Harry giggles, poking his side now. “In all seriousness, though, that was…”

“Brilliant?”

“Not exactly how I pictured it, us in Zayn’s car, to be quite honest. Not that I'm complaining, mind you; it was exquisite.” He pets Harry’s thigh gently, not even aware he’s doing it. “Luckily for you, I’m not exactly traditional.” He glances down at the junction of their bodies. “We _are_ pretty disgusting, though.”

“Should we maybe…”

“In a bit.” Louis crooks his arm around Harry’s shoulder and they lay there for a long moment, just listening to the rain. Louis rubs his hands across Harry’s back, trailing swirls all over, fingers executing an intricate ballet across his body. Harry is content to just lay pressed against Louis, their bodies melting together in the warmth and quiet. Finally, it’s just them. Just their thoughts, their voices, their breath. This is what they needed tonight. 

They start to stir in earnest only after the rain disappears entirely, leaving only the steady drip and silence as any indication it was ever there.

They finally situate themselves, Harry moving back to the driver’s side. Even though it’s chilly, they drive with the windows down, holding hands beside the gearshift, singing along to cheesy songs on the radio at the top of their lungs.

Niall is back by the time they return around midnight, as is Liam, sans his mysterious girlfriend. There are a bunch of parcels on the counter from the shops, some of them open. It’s late, but Niall is fussing with pots and pans anyway, grabbing things from the fridge. He acted fine when he was sacked, all false bravado, but Harry knew it hurt his feelings. Food is his _thing_ , his passion, the place where he finds comfort. It’s become his home.

Harry stops dead in the kitchen. Suddenly, he has a genius idea.  

“I’ve been going about this all wrong,” he says quietly to no one in particular.

“Going about what all wrong?” Louis asks.

“Nothing. Never mind. I’ll tell you later.” He turns to Niall, smiling so brightly that the lightbulbs in the kitchen flare for a moment. “What’re you making?”

“Colcannon. My mum used to make it, back when I was a wee lad.”

“Are you doing corned beef with it?” Louis asks, pointing to what looks like meat on the counter. “I’ve always loved your corned beef. Well, the smell, anyway.”

“No, that’s for—” Niall turns and does a massive double-take looking at Harry, almost dropping the bowl of potatoes he’s holding. “Christ! What happened to you?”

“What?” Harry looks down, remembering all at once. He blushes. “ _Oh_. I forgot.” His jumper is covered in blood and there _may_ or may not be come drying on his jeans—his and Louis’.  _Oops._

“Jesus, you look like someone’s murdered you. You better get changed ’fore Liam comes downstairs.” Niall points a knife at Louis. “Can you try _not_ to savage him in front of our new flatmate?”

“He’s not the only one who was savaged,” Louis says defensively, frowning and pulling at the neck of his shirt to touch the place where his neck meets his shoulder. “Our witchy friend has pretty sharp teeth, turns out. Bit me when he came—”

Niall slams the bowl on the counter, his hands flying over his ears. “ _OKAY_ ,” he says loudly, as Harry laughs, his hair turning a lurid bubblegum pink. “I don’t need that mental image. Ever.”

“You sure? Because I could go into more thorough detail, if you want. Pictures, diagrams, the whole shebang.”

“ _No_ , thanks. I’m good.” Niall lowers his hands, shaking his head. “Get out of my kitchen, you’ll contaminate my food.”

Louis laughs, catching Harry’s gaze. He winks, running his fingers over the place where Harry bit him gently, as if to remind himself that it was real, to make sure he doesn’t forget. Harry’s hair _slowly_ turns back to brown.

Harry looks down at himself, another idea occurring to him. He summons a wine glass out of the cupboard, letting it hover beside him in the air. Louis watches him for a moment before turning to Niall. “What’s the meat for? You didn’t finish saying.”

“Oh. They’re for you.”

Harry catches Louis eye, and he smiles. He was right, after all. Niall and Louis are like siblings after all this time; they fight and make up hours later without ever apologizing—with words, anyway. Some things just don’t need to be said. Time, history, and their actions speak for themselves.

Niall glances at Harry. “Can I get a hand over here?”

“Sure.”

The potatoes start peeling themselves while Harry points a hand at himself. He pulls back, and the blood goes siphoning out of his jumper into the air, wavering in a liquid bubble. The refrigerator opens, a bottle of red wine floating out of it. It pours into the wine glass, about half-full; Harry adds the blood to it and conjures a flame beneath it to heat it. When it’s just warm enough—about 37 Celsius—he sends it floating to Louis.

“There. You can have what you missed.”

“Thanks, babe. Waste not and all that, yeah?” When Harry nods, Louis takes an experimental sip. “Not bad.” He drinks a few mouthfuls before frowning at Niall. “The meat’s for me, you said?”

“Yep. Bloodiest steaks in town.”

“Ooh,” Louis says, reaching for the package. “Everyone’s spoiling me today. And I didn’t get you anything.”

“Didn’t have to.”

Louis sets the glass down and crosses the kitchen, intercepting Niall as he’s chopping an onion. He ruffles Niall’s hair and kisses him on the side of his head, smiling. “Thanks, Ni.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Still, Niall grins. “Get out of the way, will you? And put those in the freezer if you’re not going to suck them dry, otherwise they’ll go bad.”

“Yes, Mother Hen.” Louis does as he’s told, though, and Harry watches his boys with a small smile. All is forgiven; everything is once again right in the household.

For the most part. Quickly, Harry finishes cleaning himself and Louis up with magic, much to Louis’ surprise and delight. “Did you just _steam_ my jeans?”

“Yes. I didn’t burn you, did I?”

“Vampire,” Louis says with a shrug. “Wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Can we not with the _V-_ word?” Niall asks.

“Okay, _W_ -word, whatever you say.”

“Liam!” Harry calls toward the sitting room. “Get down here, please!”

Liam pops his head into the kitchen. “Yeah?”

Harry jumps, staring at him. “Oh my god, where did you come from?”

“I was always down here.”

Louis looks at him over the rim of his wine glass. “Are we going to have to buy you a collar with one of those little bells on it?”

Liam narrows his eyes. “You’re the ones with the weird kinks, you tell me.”

Niall chokes and drops the container of butter he’s holding, nearly sends an entire cutting board of chopped onions flying at that statement; after he can speak again, he kicks Louis and Harry out of the kitchen for good this time. The three of them go laughing into the sitting room, Louis curling up on the sofa, holding his wine up carefully so Harry can settle in beside him.

“So what’d you want?” Liam asks, sitting in the armchair.

“How was your date?”

He shrugs. “Okay. We don’t see each other as often.”

“Yeah, I thought you would’ve spent the night over there, or something.”

“No, I had to come back.” He gestures to the window. “The rain, you know. That storm was crazy.”

Harry picks a piece of fuzz off his newly-cleaned jumper, chancing a stolen look at Louis. He’s sipping his wine, eyes widened slightly, eyebrows raised. He darts a quick look at Harry and smirks as he swallows, both of them looking away. He likes that they have secrets like these, like they’ve got a world all their own to share.

Liam frowns suddenly, pointing across the sitting room. “Since when do we have a piano?”

“Since always, Liam,” Louis says innocently. “You never noticed?”

“Are you…are you sure?”

“He’s joking,” Harry says, touching Louis’ knee. “It’s his, he had it delivered today and we forgot to tell you.”

“Oh! Well, it’s nice. Looks proper posh, to tell you the truth. You play?”

Louis nods. “They don’t. You?”

“Yeah, I used to, a bit.”

“Nice! We’ll have to do some piano jams sometime.”

“So why are we gathered out here?” Liam asks.

“Well, first, I just wanted to say that you don’t need to worry.” When Liam just stares at him, Harry says, “I’ll be moving all my things into Louis’ room any day now.”

“Cheers, mate. Anything else?”

“Yes and it’s very important, actually, Liam. After today’s wild flatmate meeting, I’ve decided we’re having a movie night. We need to realign our energies. So your choices are… _The Princess Bride_.”

There’s a long pause and Liam looks at him, eyebrows raised. “What’s the other choices?”

“Oh, there aren’t any. I misspoke. Your only choice is _The Princess Bride_.”

“All right.” Liam shrugs. “I’ve never seen it, so why not?”

“Never _seen it_ ,” Harry crows in disbelief and that settles it. He puts on the movie, Louis finishes his drink, and Niall joins them with hot food.

Sometime around halfway through the movie, Harry can feel the shift in the house’s energy, the way the air changes around them, the way the house goes silent and still, though the wind has picked up again outside, heralding more rain. It settles back in with their happiness and friendship, no longer frightening with the effects of their anger and fear. _My great-great-aunt may have given me a magic house as it turns out_ , Harry thinks fondly, looking up at the ceiling, at the exposed beams and dark wood.

Louis reaches over and touches Harry’s knee. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his hand gently rest there. Harry looks at it for a moment before he twines their fingers together and kisses the back of Louis’ hand. Louis’ smile is the brightest light in the dark.

* * *

It rains on and off for the next five days, coming and going in streams and vicious storms. The town floods and Harry can’t even manage to get to work to check on the kittens, much to his distress, and not even the knowledge that his boss is there helps to calm him down. Everyone is stuck inside, even Niall, except for the nights of the full moon; he comes back in the mornings soaked to the bone and freezing, reeking of wet dog and splattered with mud. If Liam notices anything, he doesn’t say anything, simply remarking that he found a leaf in the bathtub one morning.

The house creaks and groans as the wind goes whistling through it, the rain pelting down without mercy. Felix meows unhappily when Harry refuses to let him out so he can go running through the field chasing birds and mice, but he recovers from his consternation the first time lightning strikes the field, nearly setting it aflame. He spends the next few hours hiding beneath Harry and Louis' bed.

 _Harry and Louis’ bed_. Harry loves that. _It’s ours now._ They spend almost the entire storm in it, talking and laughing, Louis tickling Harry’s sides and petting his curly head, Harry reading one of the books from his extensive collection while Louis listens sleepily. They spend it learning each other’s bodies, trailing fingers and gently tasting, exploring what causes every gasp and shuddering breath, what sets each of them over the edge, only to do it all again later.

Harry has free reign of the house during the day, as Niall is dead to the world sleeping off his night changes, and Liam is out of the house—at work, Harry assumes, though how he gets to downtown Greater Gloomingshire is a mystery even to him. He takes time on the first day to clean up the cellar after the crystal mishap, but then the lightning and thunder send him back inside, and it rains so viciously the next day that he doesn’t dare go out again.

Even spending it with Louis, the time inside starts to drive him a little crazy. Being a witch, he’s a conduit of all energy, all life, but on a personal level, storms are but a passing fancy, something he considers to be a temporary bout of fun. He is, for all intents and purposes, like a sunflower: he draws a lot of his power from light, from sunshine and blue skies. When the fifth day dawns as gloomy as the others, Harry can feel himself starting to wilt.

But, as is always the case with Harry, he has an idea.

Louis’ sleep schedule is a thing of unknowns now, as he’s always staying up to be with Harry and, due to the blood-drinking, in need of less sleep than before. So, the morning of the fifth day, he’s half-asleep at around nine in the morning when Harry gently shakes him awake.

“Louis, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Hm?” Louis snuggles down deeper into his pillow. “Must be _very_ important.”

“Oh, it is. Wake up!” Harry jumps up and down, clapping his hands. “Wake up, wake up!”

“Harold, that is the _least_ effective way to wake up a vampire, much less a regular person.” When Harry ignores him, Louis grabs him by the ankle and drags him down beside him, Harry laughing and protesting all the while.

“Stay here, let’s sleep forever,” Louis murmurs.

Harry laughs. “That’s your job, not mine.”

Louis tightens his arms around Harry’s middle, hooking his thumbs into his back. “Speaking of jobs, has Niall got on yet?”

“Hardly, with the storm. And that whole, y’know, werewolf thing.”

“Oh, yeah, _that_ thing. And Liam’s gone?”

“I suppose so. He’s hardly here during the day anymore.”

Louis frowns. “Maybe _he’s_ a vampire, too.”

“Wouldn’t you know?”

“Maybe. Sometimes. It honestly depends on the person. Some people are quite good at hiding it, usually us older ones.”

Harry laughs. “Okay, old man. Have you known a lot of vampires throughout the years?”

“Enough.” When Harry laughs again, Louis says, “No, I’m serious! You wouldn’t think they’d be annoying and pretentious but surprise, they are. I don’t mind not knowing very many of the old ones. They treated it like it was an exclusive club and used it to keep out anyone they considered inferior. It’s the younger ones nowadays who could use someone to watch over them. Even with technology and films and all that, it can be lonely, frightening. One thing I wish I’d had was a better mentor to teach me what it all meant.”

Harry goes quiet beside him. He so rarely talks about what happened, who he was before. “Who turned you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I never mind you asking. It was a woman named Edith. She had been a nun, once. It was almost funny. Not then, of course, but now.”

“How old were you?”

“I think…twenty-one? Maybe twenty-two. I don’t remember.” He looks up at Harry. “How old do I look? It's hard to remember.”

“About that age.”

“Good. You ever introduce me to your mum, I don’t want to look like I could be your dad.”

Harry laughs, rolling his eyes. Louis is a good few inches shorter than him. “You don’t, trust me.”

Reluctantly, after a few minutes of cuddling, Louis is coaxed from bed and their room, wearing a dark silk robe and a Doncaster shirt over a pair of pants. The first thing he does upon emerging is plop down at the piano, playing a few experimental bars. The curtains are closed tight in the sitting room, allowing no light in or out.

“It’s a shame you can’t introduce me to your mum,” Harry says, sitting down beside him on the bench, drawing his legs up. He’s been dressed for over an hour already, wearing a pair of black skinnies and a dark green hooded jumper that Gemma bought him.

Louis plays ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ on the piano. “Sure I can. I have a mum.”

“Everyone’s got a mum, Lou, of course. I just thought—well, since you died so long ago—”

“No, see, I have a mum who’s alive _now_ , back in Donny. She knows about me, took me in a few years ago when I needed her. I helped raise her daughters, they’re like my sisters now. Besides you lot here, they’re the only family I’ve got.”

“And they all know?”

“Yep. They’re not afraid of me. If anything, they just want to protect me."

“Wow." The idea of being able to meet Louis' family sends a thrill through him. "And you didn’t think to tell me earlier?”

Louis grins at him. “You never asked. But I told them about you. They really want to meet you, the girls especially. They think I made you up.”

Harry nods. “Gemma said the same thing. Maybe we should have a big party. A witch-vampire extravaganza!”

“I’m pretty sure they just call that Halloween, babe.” The song changes to Beethoven’s ‘Fur Elise.’ Harry watches him play, watches the way his hands delicately dance over each key, like he’s been doing this for, well—centuries. “So, you play piano.”

Amused, he replies, “Yes, Harold.”

“What else can you do?”

Louis breaks off in the middle of the song, tapping his chin. “Hm, what else can I do? Oh!” He disappears in a blur of movement, returning holding several of the apples Niall bought at the store. He juggles them up in the air, around and around. “I can do this.”

“Uh-huh. And that came from…”

“The sixteenth century. I was part of a traveling troupe of actors and magicians. You know—fire-eaters, tumblers, contortionists. Things like that. I learned how to disguise myself with them. Be other people, you know?”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve had to hide throughout the years, obviously. I spent around a century going through Asia, fleeing this mob that had it out for me once, and after that I swore I’d never let anyone know my secret again. That was a lie, obviously, since I know Niall, and you, and my family, and Zayn. I got caught a few times before that, too.” He drops one of the apples and the others follow, landing solidly on the wood floor. “It’s hard, having to hide. You get bitter, start thinking things would just be better if maybe you weren’t the way you are. But with these people, I learned to manage it, to make it a game. I became different people, but I was still myself at the end of the day.”

Harry knows a lot about what that’s like. Witches lives are defined and ruled by secrets. It’s who they are—thankless guardians and protectors. He nods in total understanding. “Like who?”

“Oh, loads of people.” He starts counting on his hand. “Actor, smuggler, priest, soldier, spy, teacher, nanny, thief, activist, sailor, pilot, member of the vampire court in not only Venice, but also Paris and St. Petersburg.” Harry mouths the word _wow_ from his seat on the piano bench. “You name it, I’ve probably done it.”

“Butcher, baker, candle-stick maker?”

“All of the above.”

Harry laughs. Louis’ life is so fantastical, so rich and varied (he reminds himself to ask about that vampire court thing later) but there’s one question he’s never actually asked—one answer he’s never actually gotten. He bites his lip, suddenly shy. “Lou, can I ask you something a bit personal?”

Louis bends to pick up the apples. “Darling, I think we’re quite far beyond that point. Go ahead.”

“Who were you, really? Before all of that, I mean. When you were still alive.”

Louis pauses as he’s grabbing the last apple. Slowly, he stands. He juggles the apples, more slowly this time. “Now that’s a question I don’t get often.”

“I just thought—you know, you’ve done so many things, been so many people. But you’ve never said who you were before. And if it’s bad, you don’t have to tell me, it’s just—”

“It’s not bad, it’s just…” Louis sighs, catching all the apples and setting them down on the bench beside Harry. “It’s complicated. My relationship with my parents was not the best, and the time period...It was a hard and joyless existence.” He stands beside the piano, tapping out a slow, quiet melody. “Being killed was honestly the best thing to happen to me.”

Harry watches him as he plays the piano deep in thought. There’s so much he’s lost, yet so much he’s found. It strikes Harry then just how much Louis has been through across the expanse of time, how much he’s seen, how many things he’s had to give up just to survive, how many times he’s had to hide his true self just to make it. It’s exhausting just to think about. _But he’s so strong_ , Harry thinks with a rush of admiration, _he can get through anything. He makes_ me _strong._

“Sorry,” Louis says, looking at Harry with a smile, interrupting his thoughts. “Here you are, asking me innocent questions, and I have to be all depressing.” He sighs loudly. “I think it’s the storm. It’s sapped up any strength I have left. Normally, I don’t mind a little cloud cover, but not when it’s so gloomy all the time.”

“Oh! That reminds me. I still have that surprise for you.”  

“I like surprises.”

“Good.” Harry stands up, taking Louis’ hand. “Come with me.”

He leads him to the front door. With a particularly flamboyant flourish, he flings it open with one hand, exposing them both to brilliant sunshine. Louis immediately throws an arm up, flinching backwards, but Harry tugs on his hand. “It’s okay,” he says gently, “it won’t hurt you.”

“Are you mad, that’s—”

“It’s not _real_ , Louis.”

Slowly, Louis lowers his arm. “What?”

“It’s not real. It’s magic. I was getting bored of the storm, so I thought, why not create a little sunshine? And then I thought to myself, what if I can make it safe so Louis can go outside? So…” He gestures to the blazing doorway. “I did!”

“You…made it sunny?” Hesitantly, Louis steps forward, eyes narrowed against the brilliant outdoor flare. “Is it safe?”

Harry nods. “Perfectly. It’s just an illusion, a bubble surrounding our house. Nobody else can see it but us.”

Carefully, Harry leads him outside. At first, he’s hesitant, and Harry knows why—when you’ve avoided something so long, you don’t immediately go running toward it. For all intents and purposes, Louis is quite literally allergic to the sun, and he shies away from it even when he’s outside, standing on the porch for a long time, only edging down to the steps when he’s ready. It’s only at Harry’s soothing persuading that he takes that first step off into the great, dazzling unknown.

And dazzling it is. Harry conjured his favorite memory of a spring day months before, so the sky is a dreamy blue, clouds chasing the sun. Flowers dot the walkway up to their house and absolutely cover the field beyond in color, as the branches of the distant forest’s trees move in a gentle wind. Wind chimes clang together musically on the porch and colorful ribbons hang from tree branches, spinning in the breeze. 

For a long time, Louis just stands there, looking at himself in the light. He examines his hands, eyes tracing the lines of his palms, inspecting each curling labyrinth of his fingerprints. He lets his eyes close as he raises his face to the sun, holding his arms out, his palms open and fingers outstretched, like he’s trying to catch all the light.

“Do you know,” he says, the joy on his face radiating into his voice, “the last time I saw the sun?”

Harry shakes his head.

“It was spring. It was the festival of flowers in May, almost like this. Everyone wore a crown of them on their head and there were honeycakes and sweet wines." He takes a deep breath. "The year was 987.”

Harry just stares, soundless. That’s so much time to spend in the dark that he can’t fathom it, can hardly believe Louis survived it all without losing himself.

Louis lowers his arms. He opens his eyes, turning to look at Harry—and it’s the first time he’s seen him in the sunlight without an umbrella overhead, without having to worry about getting hurt. The light catches every gilded fleck in his hair, turning his skin to a perfect gold, and the sky highlights the endless blue of his eyes. He is a beacon of light, here, and he’s that way because Harry made it so. _Because together, we’re light._

“You did this for me?” he asks. There’s so much emotion in his voice, so many all at once, that Harry doesn’t think there’s a word for it.

Harry nods, half-shrugging. “I love you,” he says simply by way of explanation.

Louis nods at that, gazing out at the beautiful sunny day. Harry can see the sunshine and flowers reflected in his eyes, and in that moment, it's the best thing he's ever done, his greatest triumph, because he created something that made Louis shine. 

Louis takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. He reaches for Harry's hand. "I was the King of France," he says calmly. 

Harry lets out a little laugh. "Excuse me?" It sounds like the punchline to a joke that he missed the start of.

"You wanted to know who I was before I became a vampire." Louis looks at him and smiles, shrugging. "And I was Louis V, King of Western Francia." 

Harry's mouth goes dry and he licks his lips while he waits for his brain to reboot so he can say something even remotely intelligent to respond to that. "You're..." He stops, shaking his head. "But..."

"You  _did_ ask," Louis points out. 

 _King_ , his brain keeps repeating, shouting into the ether, echoing back from the cosmos.  _KING! Of France!_

"Seriously?" he asks, his voice small.  _  
_

" _Vraiment,_ " Louis says even as he smiles, eyes crinkling. " _Et je t'aime."_

**Author's Note:**

> -sorry if there are mistakes, i'm very tired and probably didn't catch them all  
> -the flatmate meeting was inspired by a scene in the film 'what we do in the shadows' which is amazing
> 
>  
> 
> can you believe this series has been up for a year now (thanks to larrycaring for pointing that out because i probably would've forgotten) but WOW that means a whole year of people liking this series and giving me kudos and leaving comments, and i love you all for that! the next one will be up sooner, xo


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